


thaw

by astroturfwars



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Magic, free! shipping relay 2015, the romance is pretty dang mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroturfwars/pseuds/astroturfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the sun spurs to race the blood of spring and shakes the dirt from the bones of the earth, Momo breathes life again; and with him, so does the forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thaw

**Author's Note:**

> The formatting for this got massively messed up when it was posted on tumblr, so here it is again.

When the sun spurs to race the blood of spring and shakes the dirt from the bones of the earth, Momo breathes life again; and with him, so does the forest.

He uncurls himself from where he’d been nestled (this year against the side of a bear cub still drowsy from months of sleep) and stretches, the lines and joints of him creaking the way old trees do in the wind. The sun is gentle on his skin, a tender homecoming hello, and Momo revels in it: he plucks himself from the cool hollow of the burrow and steps into the light, delighting in the crunch of winter-stiff leaves under his bare feet. 

Around him, his charges stir. He takes note of the pulse-quick movements of rabbits’ feet as they begin their first forays of the season; he picks up the new-throated calls of birds as they reestablish territory and strike up old alliances; he lifts his nose in unison with the mice scurrying underfoot as they tilt their tiny heads into the beginnings of a fresh breeze. It’s a cool one, growing warmer as it strengthens, and that means—

“Ai!”

The breeze gathers like a deep-held inhalation, whipping up a storm in miniature. Momo knows now that this tightly-contained tornado is less for show than it is for modesty; he’s still delighted, though, and follows each twist and dip of old brown leaves as they spin faster higher _faster_ —and then drop.  

He is as silver as the wind, and his eyes remind Momo of the bluebells still hiding in the wake of winter chill. His smile is soft, familiar and welcoming, and Momo greets it with all the enthusiasm he’s been storing for months. 

“Hi!” Momo crows, and pounces.

Ai lets out a strangled noise, but Momo hits his mark before he can do much more than put his hands up. Momo’s more solid than Ai—always has been, even when they were human—and together they tumble into a bed of soft greenery with a dull thud and a wheeze. 

Momo pushes himself up onto his hands and knees and braces himself above Ai, grinning sunshine-bright. Ai is half-dazed and disheveled: leaves are tangled into the fine fall of his hair, and there’s a smudge of dirt rubbed into the pale of his cheek, and Momo can’t help but lean down to nudge their mouths together.

He pulls back after a moment—Ai hasn’t quite gotten used to Momo’s easy physical intimacy—and says, enthused, “I was wondering when you’d get here!”

“It’s the first day of spring,” Ai says, fixing Momo with a look that falls just short of scolding. “I have a job to do. Of course I wouldn’t be late.”

“Of course!” Momo noses at the underside of Ai’s jaw. He’s been through the south side of the forest already; Momo can smell plum blossoms and the quick wingbeats of swallows on his skin. “You haven’t been down to the river yet. Can we go?”

Ai’s mouth twists. “I still need to go over to the western grove…”

Playful, Momo nips at his ear; Ai makes a sound like leaves rustling in a sudden sharp wind and turns pale primrose pink. “Let’s go to the river,” Momo urges. “Everyone else is gonna wake up without us, and we’ll miss all the fun!”

“Ugh,” Ai says, but he comes easy when Momo pulls him up out of the leaves. 

Usually Ai is faster, but Momo can keep pace with him this early in the spring; on hands and knees Momo bounds through the brush, nimble and quick, Ai a blue-gray whisper beside him as they make for the northern border of the forest. 

The river that winds through the Samezuka forest is wide and, for now, lethargic: ice still sleeps thick near the riverbeds, and the water moves with a sluggishness only seen in the chill aftermath of the coldest months. Momo likes to race the current on days like these, when he has a chance to win—even though he knows that, under normal conditions, the water would take him by storm any day. 

When Momo and Ai break through the last line of trees that marks the northern edge of the forest, they find Rin like they do every spring: sitting atop the water’s surface, dipping his toes into the water on occasion, yawning and now stretching in fluid movements. He’s beautiful, built with the same quiet strength as the river itself, and Momo’s heart gives an instinctive rabbit-quick flutter at the sight of him. 

“There you two are,” Rin says, turning towards them—and then his eyes go wide and he says, “Hey, Momo— _wait a second—“_

Momo is nothing if not energetic, especially after months of hibernation; it only takes him a few long, ambitious steps before he’s at the riverbed, gathering his feet beneath him, and throwing himself in Rin’s general direction. 

He winds up partially on top of Rin and receives a knee to the stomach for his efforts. For all his muscle, Rin’s human form is still graced with sharp corners and bony joints; if Momo were more attached to his corporeal body than to the forest, that probably would’ve hurt. 

As it is, he’s only briefly deterred; he wheezes, scrambles upright, and tucks his legs underneath himself on the water’s surface. It’s like sitting on particularly smooth earth covered in a thin, tenuous layer of dew, and Momo can’t help but splash at the surface—which promptly goes liquid-thin, submersing Momo in up to his hips. 

“It’s still early,” Rin says, calm, over Momo’s squawks. “You’ve been awake for—what, twenty minutes now? At least say hello properly.”

His tone is borderline scolding, but the sparkle in his eyes is fond; Rin’s face opens like the sky on a cloudless blue day when he laughs, and Momo swoops down, hawklike in his accuracy, to press his smile against Rin’s own. 

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” Rin grumbles—though it does nothing to disguise the hint of begrudging amusement on his face—, and Momo grins.  

“You’re the best,” Momo declares, ducking in for one more nuzzle before he pulls himself out of the water. It’s too cold for his liking, and even Rin’s skin hasn’t yet warmed up yet with the first rays of sunshine. In a few days he’ll be warmer, stronger, and Momo will play in the shallows and ask Rin for races he still might win; but for now Rin is still run through with vestiges of ice, and Momo would prefer to bask in the sun.  

“That’s what you always tell Sousuke,” Rin says, dry. “Why don’t you go jump him?”

Ai, who’s drifting carefully across the river to Rin’s side, quirks a brow. “Where is he?” 

Rin—who always seems to know where Sousuke is, somehow—waves a lazy hand at the crush of rocks dozing on the far side of the riverbank. 

Now that Momo pays attention, that particular arrangement of rocks _does_  look very Sousuke-ish; quiet and still and well-contained, but here and there jagged with sharp edges that contrast with the smooth, solid body of the rock itself. It’s the kind of outcropping that would make a safe haven for small animals during a storm, or a nice spot to wait out the seemingly interminable heat of high noon in the summer; the kind of earth that just seems like it would house a spirit like Sousuke. 

Watching Sousuke take form is always hard. Not because it’s painful—though Momo can’t imagine having to dissociate into so many particles of tethered aura every time the temperature drops too far—but because when Sousuke manifests it’s like watching a tree grow in sped-up slow motion, like watching years go by in the span of seconds. Sousuke blooms like spring itself, and all around him the earth yawns itself awake. 

“So cool,” Ai murmurs, and immediately goes rose-red; Momo, though, echoes his sentiment with loud fervor. 

Sousuke, whose human form is the color of warm sand and just as inviting, brushes an errant daisy from his hair, raises a brow at both of them, and says, dry, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” 

“Nah.” Rin pushes himself to his feet, scattering droplets as he goes, and reaches out to knock his ankle against Sousuke’s leg when he passes by. “Just in time to see these two off.”

“Perfect timing, then,” Sousuke says, cracking his first smile of the season as Momo draws near. 

When Momo bounces up on his toes to press a misaligned kiss to Sousuke’s lips, he is as solid as the earth upon which Momo stands—though there is a tremor, nearly imperceptible, that shivers beneath his skin when Momo smiles against his mouth.

“Don’t you have an innocent traveller to terrorize?” Sousuke murmurs as Momo pulls away, curling strong fingers around the sharp lines of Momo’s wrist. “Or a bear trap to dismantle, or something?”

Momo takes a breath, holds it, closes his eyes. 

In his fingertips he can feel the charge-and-butt of young deer at play; rolling down his spine is the contentment of the dozing mother bear, the songs of birds, the minuscule flutter of butterfly wings. 

“Nope,” he concludes, grinning. “C’mon, just one more—“

Sousuke cuts him off with another kiss, and Momo makes a triumphant little noise. 

“You’re always too energetic during this time of year,” Rin sighs, flicking his fingers in Momo’s direction. His hands look dry, but the river water that springs from them is cold on Momo’s face. “Didn’t we talk about calming down?”

Momo remembers the talk they’d had last summer, once the ardor of the forest had dampened down; Rin and Sousuke and Ai, harried and flushed and marked with blossoming bruises, had told Momo that next year he needed to pull himself out of the collective unconscious of the forest and remember that he had a duty to do as the forest’s spirit, not as a denizen. 

But Momo can’t  _help_ it: every spring he’s full up to the brim with life and vitality and itching with the need to channel it. Besides, it’s only been a few years since he lost himself to the forest; he’s still working on his control. 

“I’m working on it!” Momo says, and though he’s pouting he accepts a good-natured head pat from Rin. “I’ll get better, though—soon I’ll be able to wake up the whole forest in one try!"

“Right,” Sousuke says, not bothering to hide his laugh. “I’ll be waiting to see that.”

Momo opens his mouth to argue—his brother is one of the most powerful forest spirits this side of the sea, and Momo has the same magic and ambition inherent in his aura—but Ai sends a cool shiver down the back of Momo’s neck, and he stops, a little chided, to listen. 

“Alright,” Ai says, with the same reluctant air of finality as someone curbing a child’s play. When he takes Momo’s hand in his, his touch is gentle as a summer breeze. “Come on. We’ve got work to do, remember? You won’t get any better at rousing if you never get around to it.” 

Momo can feel the forest pulling at him: he can feel liveliness drawing swallows from their nests in the south, and hunger rumbling in the bellies of squirrels and rabbits in the east, where he’d first awoken. The north stirs, sluggish but conscious—but to the west there is silence and sleep and trees unstirred by the wind, and Ai is right: they have work to do. 

“Yep!” Momo trills, and bounces to his feet. He stretches, shakes himself loose, wonders if Ai’s warmed up enough yet to put on a good race. “Last one there has to wake up the badgers!”

Ai laughs, and in his tone is a hint of the late-March breeze, warm and languid and comforting. “I hope you can fit into that den,” he says, and takes off.  

Today, on the thawing day of the season, Momo is foxlike, sleek and fleet-footed, and his semblance of muscle and bone work in smooth concert as he sprints after the first breath of spring.

 

 


End file.
